south sea domestic life—i attend another south sea wedding—meet men flying from justice—bound for tahiti
at that time i was about eight miles from apia, and though i was alone, and a bit depressed, i soon regained my spirits and tramped along whistling. to my right moved the deep blue pacific waters, as the cooling wind gently stirred them and crept up the shore and fanned my perspiring face. no artist could paint in words or colour the beauty of the romantic scenery that lay all around me. the ocean’s tremendous voice murmured wavy songs as it kissed the shore reef in snatches of whitened wave; the slope trees expressed the silent green utterance of mother earth, beautiful with sunset-coloured flowers in the piled carpet of jungle grass and blossoms of crimson and white wherein settled gorgeous butterflies. a native girl, standing in her brown velvety skin, waist deep in the grass, laughed and revealed her pearly teeth as i tramped by, expressing in her sparkling eyes the joy of the conscious universe. i waved my hand and smiled as her lynx-eyed bush mother watched her from a hut door just under three large coco-trees a little higher up where were several more huts. i saw a white man by one of them, leaning against a tamnu-tree smoking, so i altered my course and went up the 144rocky slope and introduced myself. he turned out to be a deck-hand on one of the trading schooners that traded from isle to isle, and i saw by his face and complexion that he was a half-caste, his wife was a full-blooded samoan. his name was adams, he seemed mighty proud of it, as he told me that he was a descendant of one of the old bounty mutineers and a high chief who had previously reigned in the solomon group.
“come you, papeteo,” he shouted, and up came his daughter. i do not think i ever saw a more beautiful native girl than she was as she stood in front of me with raised shining eyes and a wealth of waving dark chestnut hair.
“pappy, go in and get him some grub,” he said, and off she bounded, and his wife, who spoke broken english, welcomed me, saying, “white mans, plenty eat sooner,” and so saying folded her brown hands over her stomach to hide the tear in her tappa-cloth robe which ended at her knees.
inside their home i sat, talked and ate a splendid meal of grilled chops, cooked over their camp fire, as papeteo’s tiny brothers and sisters romped around my stool, looked up at me with tiny demon eyes, and tried to feel in my pockets. when i had finished we both sat outside under the tall tropic trees, where high up droves of doves moaned and cooed as the sea-winds swayed the tops.
that half-caste trader was the bravest man and the most fortunate man on earth, for as soon as he had lit his big pipe and crossed his legs comfortably 145he started off telling me of his narrow escapes in storms and in fights with the natives of the various isles. i very soon saw that he was a swanker (they mostly are, the half-castes of the south seas), but to be quite friendly i encouraged him and often looked up with assumed surprise and admiration to hear how he had saved my countrymen from being murdered by the solomon islanders, fijians and other tribes by his own wonderful courage and herculean strength, and just as he was gazing into my face as much as to say “what do you think of a deed like that?” the red-hot ash from his pipe fell on to his wife’s bare knee. up she jumped with a howl and caught him a terrible crash on the head with a bamboo club, as she started to beat her thin dress with her hands, for it was all on fire. i leapt forward and tore the dress from her, otherwise i am sure she would have been seriously burned. all the husband did was to look horror-struck, and his half-caste skin went greyish-white. she had given him a terrible whack with the club, and i suppose he felt spiteful, for i noticed that his half-caste eyes looked at her with hidden pleasure as she wailed.
papeteo came running up from the shore sparkling with sea-water, for she had been bathing in a tiny lagoon a few yards inland, and she quickly ran into the homestead den and got a large piece of cloth and wrapped it round her skinny-bosomed parent, and all was soon peace again. i learnt from that half-caste trader that he was in the employ of the missionary society and often went off on lecturing 146tours to the many islands, as he could, of course, speak the native language perfectly, as well as being able to talk english and a smattering of german.
my foot was so blistered and sore on the heel that i altered my mind about getting back to apia and stayed there the night, and old mother adams was delighted when she heard i would do so and kept saying “a loo, o swa,” or something that sounded like it, as her eyes gazed amorously at me. when her husband had gone across the slope to one of the other huts, to see some natives who were having a great feast over a wedding, she made violent love to me, jabbering something to papeteo. she told her to get off, and as soon as she had gone she started stroking my hand and face softly and did many more embarrassing things of samoan custom, till i was beside myself with worry, and i can tell you that when suddenly the half-caste husband returned, and she sat down quickly, i was extremely pleased.
that night i went with them all over the slope to see the wedding party. a pretty young samoan girl had just been married to a stalwart fierce-looking native, and when we arrived the “siva dance” was in full swing. by the rows of huts of the small seaside village the inhabitants stood and squatted, all singing in unison as the chief dancers, dressed in flowers and native muslin, and parakeet wings in their hair, whirled about and around like ghosts in the brilliant moonshine that came glimpsing through the palm leaves. it revealed the faces and shining eyes of native maidens as they lifted 147their long arms and contorted their bodies, sometimes till their noses touched the forest floor. from time to time the squatting men, enjoying the scene as they stared in a circle around those night-dancers, shouted out the equivalent to an english “encore!” as one fat native woman succeeded in doing things which seemed impossible, bending slightly forward, giving a sudden bound and for a second standing on her head with one leg pointing one way and the other in the opposite direction. and then she stood on her head in the moonlight till with another bound she regained her feet and started hopping and whirling away once more in full swing with nothing on, as, laughing merrily, revealing pearly teeth and clapping their hands, the chorus girls of that midnight stage kept strict time with their feet and bodies on the forest floor.
it was one of the most weirdly impressive scenes that i have ever seen, more fascinating than any i had seen before with hornecastle. as i stood there with old mrs adams and her daughter papeteo by my side, just behind the husband smoking, i turned and saw two more white men gazing on the scene. i was astonished to see them, as i had not seen any of my race about during the day, and thought i was there quite alone. they were terribly scrubby-looking and had a hunted look in their eyes, and as they noticed me they quickly said something to the half-caste, and he in turn quickly reassured them. they were two fugitives from 148justice, who had committed some crime and were wanted by the commissioners. probably they had killed someone, and it appeared that my half-caste friend was doing his best to hide them till they could get away from the coast on some outbound schooner. one of them was a very decent fellow to speak to, and i gave him some plug tobacco and hinted to him that he had nothing to fear from me, and neither had he, for i was sorry for them; whatever they had done they had already done, and they were my countrymen. they had at first thought i was a young missionary, and when they found out that i was a wanderer only they were deeply relieved, and when the dance was over i went back with them, and found that they were staying in a hut just by my hosts. they laughed and told me that they had peeped through a crack and seen the whole of the episode when old mother adams had caught on fire, and chaffed me about her too. they were both thickly bearded and looked rather haggard and worried, and evidently had done something serious, but as the night wore on, and they drank from the large stone jar which stood in the corner of the hut, they became exceedingly cheerful, and seeing that i had a violin got me to play, and when i struck up a familiar strain actually started to sing loudly. adams the half-caste came rushing in to us in a fearful rage and called them damned madmen, and everything he could lay his tongue to. i am sure he would have been expelled from the missionary society had they heard the way he swore and used 149god’s name. he managed to sober the two fugitives and would not leave the hut till they were both lying down. of course had they been caught while being harboured by adams he himself would have got into serious trouble.
at daybreak they were both awake and tremulously sober. “good-bye, matey,” they said to me as i too got quickly to my feet; “good-bye,” i said, “and god bless you,” and then the taller one turned and put out his hairy sunburnt hand. i quickly clasped it and, saying “good luck to you youngster,” they both walked quickly down the slope shoreward; evidently there was an outbound schooner lying in the bay and they were taking their best chance.
it was a beautiful morning. round the bend, sunrise was bathing the sea with crimson and gold, and the parakeets in flocks, screaming off seaward, passed over my head, and the damp scent of the bread-fruit trees and orange groves gave the place the atmosphere of fairyland. i caught sight of those two hunted men hurrying across the white beach far away, and that was the last i ever saw of them. i hope they got safely off and were better men afterwards.
that same day i bade adams and his wife farewell, and pretty papeteo gave me a tortoise-shell with a native engraving on it as a memento, and once more i started on my wanderings.
i eventually arrived at apia, and going on to a trading cutter with a sailor, whom i had got to know 150in the town, i saw an opportunity of sailing as a deck hand, and so on the polly smith i sailed away bound for tahiti. we had on board several native passengers, two young girls, and several samoan men with their wives and children who were going off to the other islands to secure work on plantations. we had a fine time on those moonlight nights, as we crept along the equatorial pacific seas with all sails set, and on the decks the sailors danced with the native women while i fiddled away, delighted to be at sea again. the little samoan children were the life of that boat; one tiny girl would stand on the deck by the galley and go through all the fantastic samoan dances, throw her little legs about, stand on her head, wave her legs and hands about while upside down with as much ease as though she were on her feet. there was an english passenger with us, i think his name was wallace. we became very friendly with each other; he was going to tahiti on some government business and came from sydney. for many days we lay becalmed, and then a fine breeze sprang up and we raced away with full sail set for some days. as a rule the wind slackened by day and strengthened by night, and they were nights too, the fine tropic stars shining away overhead, the clear crystal skies imaged in the waters all around us as the small cutter drifted along, far away out on the lonely pacific track. there were no islands in that part of the ocean, but we were all happy enough. the native passengers would loaf all day long looking over the vessel’s side singing to 151themselves, and at night we all congregated and had a sing-song. i would play the violin and do my best to keep time to the natives as they danced and rolled about as the boat heeled over. mr wallace sang songs and the half-caste cook got drunk on sly grog, did jigs and afforded us great amusement.
